Space
by redex
Summary: Regulus. Yet another day.


Birthdayfic for LBx, Regulus-obsessive that she is. Perhaps the first part in a series.

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_**Space**_

Regulus Black is shorter, skinner, and paler than his brother. He likes to remind himself when he is looking at himself in the mirror critically that he has traded these things in for intelligence and a will to survive. Everyone knows that a Slytherin will never be as popular as the Gryffondor idiots simply because they have more important things on their minds.

But that doesn't change the fact that here and now, at Hogwart's School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, where idiot bravery and a glimmering sense of rightriousness is valued over truth, Regulus Black is covered in mud.

The mirror said something along the lines of "extracarricular mud wrestling is best done in warmer weather", but most of the lecture is blocked off when he struggles to pull his wet and clinging robe over his head. His hair, kept long to spite Sirius, who had cut his short to spite his parents, is matted and tangled disgustingly, and he thinks some of it may be blood from when he banged his head against a rock. He had been hit with a full-on inpedminta charm in the back while walking by the lake. It probably hadn't been a good idea in the first place, because with the spring thaw came copious amounts of mud, but he had been indulging in a good internal venting before supper. Howerver, instead of merely getting his shoes and the hem of his robes a little dirty, he had wound up face-down in the dirt with the wind knocked out of him and unwilling to return. It stank of his brother and his friends, and soon enough rough hands were dragging him towards the edge of the water and his head thrust in. That was when he had hit a rock, although he at last was spared their rediculious chortling and impossibly stupid insults.

He could only hope that some other Slytherin showed up, but alas they were all out watching the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game. _Nothing like a good slaughter to draw out the masses,_ his brain snickered, even as everything started going fuzzy. Before he could pass out, however, and be left to drown in peace, movement returned to his limbs, and after a few struggled movements with the slippery bank, he lifted himself to gasp precious air. Secondmost on his list of things to do once on his knees was look around. He could still hear their laughter as they headed up to the castle for supper, only one lingering behind and checking over his shoulder to make sure he got up from his friend's little prank.

The memory of Lupin's useless pity rose in Regulus' throat and he tosed his robe over the still-yapping mirror to silence it. the house-elves would take care of it , and now he needed a bath. The second-floor prefect's baths were rather far from the relative safety of the dungeons, but as it was still supper he figured he still had a good chance of no one being there.

Wrapped in a terry-cloath robe and fluffy slippers, the younger Black boy dragged his heavy body up a side staircase and down a hallway. Not for the first time, he wished he was still at home. Without Sirius there it was that little bit more excruciating, but at least he could be alone by choice and not because of the popular opinion at school.

The bathroom was blessedly empty, and when the bath was full of water and sweet-smelling sea salts he shucked off his robe and dropped himself in with a sigh.

The perfumed water stung at the myriad of cuts on his hands, but the pain was just one more to be ignored. At least those could be cured in a matter of seconds by Mme. Pomphrey. When he looked down at himself through the mirky water he could see where he had earned himself the nicknames that got thrown around the Slythern commonroom: waif, pretty-boy, ghost prince. However, that didn't mean he had to like it. Just becuase he hadn't filled out like his brother had in the shoulders and chest didn't mean he could be called a pretty-boy by the likes of Lucious Malfoy, who spent much more of his time in front of the mirror.

Fustrated by his thoughts once again, he flipped his head upside down to let the long trailing ends of his hair tint the water a dirty brown-green. When he held his breath and plunged his head under water, after first quelling the terror of being unable to breathe, unable to fight back, he found the wound, already scabbed on the side of his head. It was nothing to worry about, really - head wounds always bleed a lot. He didn't want to have to show it to the nurse and either tell her how it happened, enduring her sceptical looks and assurances that it was all just play, or spend his time thinking of a lie.

It was the second time he bent over, running his fingers through his hair where it had knotted and tangled around rough fingers when he heard the passageway door slide open. A mental curse ran through his head as he stood back upright, swinging his mop of wet hair back over his shoulder and wiping the water from his eyes.

Lupin, again. At least he had come to take a bath and not just make sure he was alright post-prank. Or at least took the effort to pretend.

Swearing just loud enough to be insulent, he turned away form the brown-haired Gryffondeor prefect and swam awkwardly to the other side of the large pool-sized bath. He would just finish washing his hair and then get out of here.


End file.
